


When It Rains

by exklusiv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Expressive elf ears, F/M, Hawke loves all the whores at the Rose they braid each other's hair and gossip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exklusiv/pseuds/exklusiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's accidentally locked herself out. The Chantry could shelter her, but there's a warmer place in Hightown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amethystbrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystbrooke/gifts).



> This is supposed to take place sometime in Act 3. It's also woefully unbeta'd because I am impatient and this is sorely overdue.

Gry Hawke had to learn how to say no at some point in her life. She should have known better than to run off and follow some whim of Isabela’s, especially since the weather had been gloomy for days and Isabela wanted them all out on the Wounded Coast. She, Varric, and Anders had followed her, scowling fiercely as the pirate skipped happily, looking for landmarks that indicated a treasure she was hoping to uncover.

Hawke could have throttled her when she found out that Isabela was leading them on a game of ‘X marks the spot.’ Anders had almost called lightning down from the sky to shock her.

They stepped into Lowtown when the first drops of rain came down from the dreary sky, one landing on the tip of Hawke’s nose and giving her a start. She wiped it off and looked at the sky; another hit her cheek.

“Rain. How wonderful.”

“We’re almost home, don’t worry!” Isabela said cheerfully, her sand-covered bag of trinkets tapping against her hip as she walked.

“You and Varric are almost home,” Anders said with a scowl, crossing his arms. “We still have some distance to go yet. In the rain.”

“And Darktown is closer than Hightown,” Hawke pointed out. “And, eventually, Anders will have a ceiling.”

“Oh, it’s not even raining that hard! You won’t even be damp when you get to Hightown.”

Hawke glared at Isabela, then looked at Varric. The dwarf held his hands up. “Hey, don’t look at me. None of this is my fault.”

“You encourage her,” Hawke accused, huffing.

They parted ways at the Hanged Man, where Hawke and Anders politely declined going into the Hanged Man for a drink. The two apostates walked through Lowtown, sauntering as the tiny droplets of rain filled the air with the smell of dust and humidity. Hawke walked down the steps, accompanying Anders to the entrance of Darktown, a habit she picked up over the years of their friendship. The threshold of Darktown was well out of her way, but she always felt better that Anders was getting there safely.

The healer gently elbowed her. “So, Hawke.”

“Mm?”

“Have you any plans for the evening?”

“Wine, a small dinner, maybe a bath if I get up the energy. You?”

“I’ve got patients tonight. I need to actually pay attention to them. Why I keep saying yes when you all need me to do something is beyond me.”

Hawke smiled at him. “It’s because you love us.”

Anders groaned and slumped his shoulders, looking up at the sky. “Maker, why?”

“Our irresistible charm. Well, mine, anyway.” Hawke sighed and stretched. “I’ll be glad to be home.”

“You don’t have to walk all the way up through Lowtown, you know. You could take your cellar, like I do,” Anders said, shrugging. “It’d be drier.”

“I have to stop by The Rose first, or else I would.”

Anders looked at Hawke with furrowed eyebrows. “You… have to stop by The Rose.”

Hawke nodded. “It’s Serendipity’s name day. Promised her we’d share a glass of wine. You know how I adore her.”

Anders rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “You amaze me sometimes, you know? You pay two sovereigns to spend time with Serendipity and all you do with her is drink wine and gossip. Why not just sit at the bar and do the same for less coin?”

“Because Gamlen is at the bar, and I’d rather not witness him leering at the women there. And I like Serendipity. I’d pay two sovereigns to spend an hour with you as well, you know. Besides, she’s good for gossip on the nobility here. They don’t pay for her silence.”

“Have you ever actually slept with her?” Anders asked, looking at Hawke curiously.

“Of course,” Hawke said, as if it were the stupidest question Anders had ever asked her. “Serendipity is lovely and was there for me through a lot of things.”

“You continue to shock me, you know. It’s not the taint that’s going to kill me; it’s the things you say.”

That earned Anders an elbow to the ribs.

They came to the entrance to Darktown as the sprinkling rain all but disappeared. Anders and Hawke shared a hug and Hawke headed back up through Lowtown to Hightown, feeling largely unconcerned with being jumped but still keeping an eye out. A few of the city employees wandered around, lighting lanterns to light the dim walkways, and the people in the Lowtown bazaar and the Hightown market packed their things and closed their stalls, heading home for the evening. The sky was still cloudy and gloomy when Hawke walked into the Rose, but the rain had simply teased her hair into a halfhearted frizz before retreating back into the sky. Two sovereigns placed in Madame Lucine’s hands bought her an hour with Serendipity, who was delighted to see Hawke and had wine for them already ready in her room. The two chatted and gossiped and Hawke gifted her a bottle of perfume as Serendipity showed off all the other things her noble customers gave her as gifts. She was modeling a lacy black shawl when a clap of thunder rattled through the air and reverberated against the walls of the brothel.

Hawke looked up at the ceiling; Serendipity frowned. “Oh, Honey Badger, it wasn’t raining when you came in, was it?”

“No, it had stopped by then. It’s probably just a thunderstorm.”

Serendipity frowned. “I’d hate for you to have to walk home in the rain.”

“I’m not made of sugar,” Hawke reminded her. With a grin, Serendipity grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip.

“I beg to differ.” Serendipity looked at her hourglass and sighed. “Oh, no, Honey Badger, the hour is up! Oh, I was so hoping we’d have more time than this.”

“I do, too. But I can’t be selfish, as much as I might like to be.” Hawke stood and pressed a kiss to the elf’s cheek. “I hope you enjoy the perfume.”

“I’ll wear it every day.” Serendipity showed Hawke out of her room with a wink. “Be careful going home, sweetie!”

Hawke was in the foyer when another clap of thunder echoed in the stone room. She opened the front door and immediately felt her heart sink. The stone walkway was rushing with water that was pouring in buckets from the clouds, the rain heavy and the wind kicking up ripples on the rapidly growing puddles. With a groan, Hawke walked out into the rain, trying to stay under awnings and out of the rain as much as possible.

By the time she’d gotten to her door near the stairs of the Viscount’s Keep, Hawke was soaked to the bone, her teeth chattering as she dug into her pocket for her key. The cold cut into her flesh down the bone as a gust of wind slashed at her skin as stiff fingers managed enough dexterity to push her key into the lock on her door. Her moment of relief was abruptly cut off when her key refused to turn. Hawke fought with the key, trying her hardest to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. With a jolt, Hawke realized her key wasn’t working because it was the wrong key; she’d had the locks replaced the day before because Isabela kept insisting on breaking into her house while she wasn’t there. In her haste to leave earlier that morning, Hawke had grabbed her old key instead of the new one.

The rain poured down around her as Hawke leaned her forehead on her door. Bodahn and Sandal had gone on a trip across the Waking Sea to pay a visit to old contacts in Ferelden and Orana was out with a suitor, Hawke’s mabari taken with her as protection. There was no one inside the manor that could let Hawke in.

Swearing hotly, Hawke considered walking back down to Darktown to go through her cellar, but the thought of walking through the dirt streets of Lowtown in the rain made her wrinkle her nose. The Chantry seemed like the next best option; Sebastian always talked about helping those in need, and he’d probably be willing to help Hawke. With water sloshing in her boots, Hawke made her way towards the Chantry, arms tucked tightly around her, hoping to seal in any drop of warmth before the piercing rain soaked it out of her.

Hawke made her way to the Chantry courtyard and had taken a step up the stairs before a thought occurred to her. The Chantry was there, warm and cozy and occupied by Sebastian. But just to the left, up the stairs to the other estates in Hightown, was a little tucked away mansion that no doubt had a fire in it made up entirely of broken furniture and letters from tax collectors. Without a second glance at the Chantry, Hawke made her way to Fenris’ mansion, both amazed and appalled by the amount of water pouring down the steps, like a river.

One of the charms of a coastal city, she mused. Buckets of water at any given moment.

Hawke had never been more cross that Fenris didn’t have an alcove for his doorway. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t stop her from being irate. Trying the door found it locked; with a fist that felt like it was encased in ice, Hawke pounded on the front door.

“Fenris!” she called, a band of lightning shattering the dark sky with a flash of light. The rumble of thunder that followed was loud and vibrated in her bones. After a moment, Hawke pounded on the door again, the force hurting her hand.

“Fenris, open the door!”

The elf hadn’t been at the Hanged Man and he generally stayed at his mansion when not with Hawke, so she was sure he was home. She was about to pound on the door again when the click of the lock overpowered the falling rain and the white-haired elf appeared in the doorway.

“Hawke,” he said, eyes wide as he looked upon the woman before him. With a literal watery smile, black hair limp and plastered to her forehead, Hawke shrugged.

“Hi, Fenris.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, you know. Fancied a stroll, thought I’d stop by,” Hawke said, arms hanging at her sides. Fenris regarded her for a moment with confusion before Hawke cleared her throat. “I… am actually really cold. Can I come in?”

“Oh,” Fenris said in surprise, stepping aside. Hawke stepped into the manor, hoping she wasn’t leaving too large of a puddle as Fenris closed and locked the door. “What are you actually doing here?”

“Locked myself out,” Hawke said sheepishly. “And I didn’t want to walk back to Lowtown.”

“I see. I don’t—” Fenris jolted and reached out to grab Hawke, who had slipped on the stone floor. The water in her clothes rolled off the leather of his tunic. “Hawke!”

“I’m okay! Bit slick, that’s all.”

“Hawke, you’re cold as ice.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in the rain.”

Fenris kept his hands outstretched towards Hawke, spotting her in case she slipped again as she took off her boots. The amount of water that poured out of them was astonishing. Hawke cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you have a fire going?”

“Come on.”

Fenris led Hawke up the stairs, keeping a close eye on her, until they were in his quarters. A bright fire lit the entire room and filled it with warmth. On the table was an open book and a bottle of wine next to a lit candle.

“Oh, Maker, that’s perfect,” Hawke said, setting her boots down by the fireplace and warming her hands on it. The blazing heat melted the chill in her bones and comforted her solid joints until they could move again. Fenris stood behind her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hawke, you can’t stay in those clothes.”

“I can, actually. I just don’t want to.” Hawke looked over her shoulder. “Have you anything I can wear?”

Fenris clenched and unclenched his hands, thinking, before walking to a chest at the foot of his bed. He dug around in it as Hawke tried to wring the water out of her short hair, pushing the strands out of her eyes. After a moment, Fenris came back with a long black shirt in his hands.

“Everything else I have is either dirty or in need of mending. I’m… not even sure this is clean, honestly. I apologize.”

“It will do wonderfully. Put the shirt on, wrap up in a blanket, I’ll be nice and cozy,” Hawke said, taking the shirt from Fenris’ hands. He walked back over to his chair to continue his book and his wine as Hawke peeled the layers of wet clothing off of her body, setting them to dry along the bench Fenris had near his fireplace.

“I can’t imagine coming back from the Wounded Coast took so long. What got you caught in the rain?”

“I stopped at the Rose, spent some time with Serendipity.”

“That was today, then?”

“It was.”

Fenris turned the page in his book. “Did she like her perfume?”

“She did! She didn’t believe me when I said you helped pick it out, though.”

Fenris sniffed, but Hawke knew he was smiling. Each article of clothing Hawke deposited on the bench made a wet plopping noise; after a moment, Hawke sighed.

“Maker’s balls, I was hoping these were dry,” Hawke said irritably.

“Hoping what were dry?”

“My smalls. But no, they’re cold and wet, too. Typical. Onto the bench you go!”

Fenris’ hand tensed on his book and his ears perked up. Slowly, Fenris looked over his shoulder; Hawke was already out of her breast band and was shimmying out of her small clothes, which clung to her skin valiantly. Hawke’s elbows and knees were pink with the cold; she was stepping out of the smalls when she glanced over at Fenris.

Embarrassed, Fenris quickly turned back around, ears pulled back and burning. The wet plop of the smalls on the bench echoed in the room followed quickly by the slide of the blanket being pulled off of his bed. Hawke’s footsteps plodded over to the table; he was still blushing when she sat down beside him.

“Look at the red in those cheeks. You’ll turn your lyrium pink at this rate.”

Hawke was blessedly covered from shoulder to knee. The black shirt he gave her to wear had a wide collar, one that tended to hang off his own shoulders, but Hawke had bundled herself up nicely in the blanket, warming herself well.

“I apologize,” Fenris said quietly, not meeting her gaze. A freezing cold toe nudged against his ankle.

“Don’t be sorry, Fenris,” Hawke said. “I’d do the exact same thing to you.”

Fenris stared at his knees, refusing to meet her gaze. After a moment, Hawke sighed and kicked her feet up, setting them on Fenris’ thighs. “Here, if you’re not going to read, make yourself useful. Rub.”

“Rub… your feet?”

“No, your head. Yes, my feet. I walked to the Wounded Coast and back today. I’d appreciate a little attention to them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Without a word, Fenris took his hands away from his book and placed them on one of Hawke’s feet, massaging it carefully. Hawke hummed her approval and leaned back in her chair as Fenris’ thumbs dug into the arch, working away the ache of traveling. She watched as the lines of lyrium danced on his skin as the bones of his hands shifted underneath them, a knot working itself between his eyebrows as he concentrated.

“Your hands are always so warm,” Hawke purred, snuggling further into her blanket. “It feels good.”

“My hands are not warm. Your feet are just made of ice at the moment.”

“Right, I forgot,” Hawke said, smiling. “The moody elf can’t possibly be considered warm. Ow!”

Fenris smirked, gripping another of Hawke’s toes in his fingers. “Shall I pull another?”

“I take it back, you are cold and wretched. Ow!” Hawke pulled her feet from Fenris’ lap, away from his grasp. “Stop pulling my toes!”

“Give me the other foot. I’ll finish what I started. And I won’t pull anymore toes, I promise.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the elf, but placed her neglected foot on his lap anyway. With the same attention he’d given the other one, Fenris began massaging any residual ache she’d picked up on her travels. His hands were strong and determined but had no intention of injury. Hawke relaxed again, glancing at the book on the table.

“What are you reading?”

“I don’t remember what it’s called. I didn’t care much to read the title.” Fenris glanced at the book. His ears went red. “It… is from Isabela.”

Hawke grinned. “Oh?”

“She thought I needed something besides academic tomes to practice with. She won’t stop pestering me until I’ve read it all.”

“What’s it about?”

“Honestly?” Fenris asked, looking up at Hawke. “I have no idea. I’ve lost the plot somewhere along the way.”

Hawke chuckled. “What was happening when I interrupted you?”

“The valiant knight was being thanked by the fair maiden for saving her from the wicked demons. I can’t recall their names and I don’t care to.”

“Thanking him? How?”

“As any maiden of virtue would, I suppose.”

Hawke hummed. “So, she’s tearing her clothes off and he’s going to pierce her with his sword.”

“In complete detail.”

With an amused snort, Hawke looked at Fenris. “Isn’t this the sort of book you should be reading in bed? Not in a stiff chair, with your pants on?”

A clap of thunder shook the glass in the windows. Fenris’ ears perked up automatically as he looked at the window, his shoulders tense. Hawke tilted her head.

“Not fond of thunder?”

“Not fond of unexpected loud noises,” Fenris grumbled, turning back to look at Hawke.

“I understand,” Hawke said. She glanced at the book. “Read to me.”

Fenris’ eyebrows furrowed. “You… wish for me to read to you?”

“Of course. I’d like to see how my pupil is progressing.”

“But… this book…”

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Hawke said, standing from her chair and walking over to the fire. “Just read it.”

With a sigh, Fenris turned to the book. His finger trailed down the page until he found his place. Slowly, with a clear voice, Fenris began reading.

“They were safe, in the clearing. She had been saved by her handsome knight, his sword felling the demon that had threatened her. As much as she had hidden her magic from the world, she could not hide it from the Fade, and the terrible spirits there lurked, waiting to catch her when she was not looking. The ones that could come through were even more intent on inhabiting her mind.”

“Ooh, you didn’t tell me this book was about an apostate!” Hawke said, grinning. “What an extra little detail of delight. Keep going.”

“The woman turned to the knight that had saved her. ‘Thank you, sir. You didn’t trust me and my magic at first, but you protected me anyway. I could not ask for a more noble companion.’ The knight, shroud in his armor, simply nodded his head, eyes peering out at her through the visor in his helmet.

“‘Please, dear knight,’ she begged, reaching for his hand. ‘I wish to look upon your face, to see the man that risked his own life to save mine. I might thank you properly that way.’”

There was the crisp sound of rustling paper as Fenris turned the page. “With steady hands, the knight drew up and lifted off his helmet. She looked upon him with excitement, her heart thrumming. When she gazed upon his face, her heart fluttered. He was the most handsome man she’d ever lain her eyes upon. With hair dark as midnight and eyes like whiskey, his finely tanned skin glistened from the sweat of his efforts. Full, plush lips rested under a stately nose. She felt a thrill run up her spine as their eyes met, unblocked by the metal of his helmet, for the first time.”

“She sighed. ‘By Andraste, I have been saved not by a knight, but by the incarnation of beauty itself!’”

Hawke snorted. “Is this book Orlesian? It’s so heavy-handed.”

“Could you write it better?”

“Oh, of course! Let’s see.” Hawke tapped her chin. “She’s an apostate, but she can take care of herself. She’s the one helping him, not the other way around. He’s sought out her services in his quest; she accepts, because she has to take care of her family.”

It was Fenris’ turn to snort. Hawke smiled. “She accepts his offer, and he is immediately besotted of her beauty.”

“Immediately?”

“Shush, you.” Hawke walked up behind the elf, placing her hands on his shoulders and massaging the tension out of them. “He uses her, but doesn’t trust her, even as he appreciates how she looks. What does she look like, Fenris?”

“Contrasting,” Fenris said after a moment of thought. “Dark hair over light skin. A strange scar over her nose, like a smear of blood, with eyes the color of the lyrium potions she carries. Thin in places, from a life of meager means, but still curvy. She, however distrusted by this knight she is, is just as besotted with him as he is with her. He insults her kind and she immediately responds with a compliment. What does this knight look like that she is so enraptured?”

“Thin. Very thin. She is concerned for him. His skin is rich and dark, like he spends his days under the sun. He is just as contrasting as she, with white hair over the bronze of his skin. Criss-crossing on his flesh is the mark of pain, mirrored in the haunting of his tired, fierce green eyes. His arms are strong.”

It took Fenris a moment to realize that Hawke’s hands had slid down from his shoulder to his chest, where she was deftly undoing the fastenings that held his tunic together. His heart skipped a beat when she pressed her lips to the side of his neck.

“He is lean and lithe and she wonders what it would be like to be held in those strong arms of his.”

“What happens then?”

Hawke got the last fastening undone and pushed the lapels apart, exposing Fenris’ torso to the firelight. Slowly, she slid her hands up his skin, relishing in the trail of goosebumps she left on her wake. “He pays her what she is owed, promises to be further in her debt. She tries her hardest to get him to recognize his feelings, to acknowledge that she is everything he has ever wanted. But he’s stubborn, prideful. And so bent on brooding himself into oblivion that it’s painful.”

“I do not—”

“Shh.” Hawke placed her hand over Fenris’ mouth. “My story, not yours.”

Hawke watched with glee as Fenris’ hands tightened into fists as she slid two fingers past his lips, wetting them on his tongue before putting her hand back on his chest. Slowly, Hawke circled her damp fingers around one of his nipples. Fenris made no outward indication of pleasure, but Hawke could feel his pulse quicken under her hand, could hear him breathe in sharply.

“It takes her a long time. She has other suitors, people who think she is beautiful. But she only has eyes for him, and she is patient above all else. Finally, he breaks under the strain of his desire and comes to her door, begging for her. And she gives it to him, gives him everything, because she has waited for him, and will always wait for him. With his strong hands, he pulls off her finery, lays her bare before him, and takes what is offered to him. He—”

Fenris stood abruptly, stepping around the chair and moving to Hawke. She could barely get another word out before Fenris crowded her, grabbing her by the jaw and pressing a burning kiss onto her mouth. Hawke melted against his body, opening her mouth; Fenris’ tongue slid against hers, overpowering her with the smooth flavor of his wine. Hawke pulled his lower lip between her teeth, relishing in the throaty grunt she received in response.

“I know where the story goes from here,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. Hawke, with the blanket wrapped around her waist, reached up and slid the tunic off of his shoulders, letting the leather hit the floor in a heap.

“Read it to me.”

Fenris reached down and unwound the blanket from around Hawke’s waist, eyes concentrated as if unwrapping a delicate item. It was such a strange thing to Hawke, that the hands that were harsh and unforgiving, able to reach into a man’s chest and crush his still-beating heart, were the same hands that touched her gently, that caressed her and held her with the utmost love. The blanket joined his tunic on the floor; the black cloth of the tunic was cut long, but still only managed to barely cover Hawke’s modesty. Fenris grabbed the bottom hem and slowly, agonizingly, pulled the fabric up, revealing inch by delicious inch of Hawke’s skin. Hawke lifted her arms up and let the garment be pulled over her head, standing still when Fenris tossed it aside and regarded her with a light in his eyes. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved them downward, mapping. His hands covered her breasts; feeling the weight of them in his hands, thumbs absently rubbing her nipples. Hawke sighed when Fenris’ hands moved further south, fingertips barely grazing her skin. His eyebrows furrowed when he got to the long scar on her abdomen, a constant reminder of the Arishok and what had happened to her.

“I think about it, sometimes,” Fenris murmured, running a finger down the length of the scar. “What you lost.”

Hawke placed her hand over his, brought it back up to her breast. “A discussion for another time. We’ll not dwell on the past tonight.”

“As you command,” Fenris said, crowding her and pressing his mouth to hers. A sweet sigh worked its way out of her as Fenris licked at the seam of her lips, asking to come in. Hawke wound her hands around him, tangling a hand in his hair as she let him devour her mouth, laying claim and giving in. The hand that was not on her breast moved down, searching through the coarse hair between her legs before finding its prize. Hawke’s hand tightened in Fenris’ hair as he worked her clitoris with a slow pressure, middle finger moving back and forth with a steady rhythm, a teasing ‘come hither’ motion that she was all to willing to follow. A low throb built up in her middle, warming her and arousing her.

The finger that teased her discontinued its onslaught eventually, sliding back and continuing until it felt the slick opening. Fenris slid the finger inside of her easily, testing her limits.

“N-no,” she said, grabbing Fenris by the wrist. “Not like this.”

Fenris looked at her with a raised eyebrow, ears perked up curiously. Without a word, Fenris pulled his hand away from her, keeping her gaze as he brought the hand up to his mouth and placed the digit into his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully.

Hawke pulled at the strings on Fenris’ trousers, unsure whether looking away from the way his mouth moved on the digit would be kinder or crueler to herself. The looping knot that held the leather of the trousers up loosened, coming undone with the easiest of tugs. The waistband loosened a little, sagging just the smallest bit on Fenris’ narrow hips. The unmistakable bulge of a man on the onset of arousal tented under the pliant leather; slowly, Hawke took to her knees, pulling the string a little looser, nosing at the smooth skin between Fenris’ navel and waistband. Like she had all the time in the world, Hawke hooked her fingers underneath the waistband, slowly pulling the leather trousers down as she pressed open-mouthed kisses onto his hip bones. She got them down to his calves when Fenris kicked out of them, sliding them the rest of the way down with his heel.

Isabela always groused that she could never guess what color Fenris’ underclothes were. Hawke would never tell that it was because Fenris chose not to wear them.

Being with Fenris had taken some getting used to. Hawke’s experience had been gained with farmhands, blacksmith apprentices, the occasional nervous Templar just to prove she could. Serendipity in the Rose had been her first foray into elves, and that first time it was Serendipity servicing Hawke. Fenris had been the first elf Hawke had been actively engaged in, and the differences between him and the other men (and woman) she had been with was astounding. His stature, for one, had been an adjustment. Fenris was apparently tall for an elf, but he only stood an inch above her, half an inch when she stood straight and he slouched; the men she’d known before had been much taller. He was also incredibly narrow, even in his shoulders, which were the broadest part of him, strong and supportive from swinging his sword. Hawke’s waist, which had gotten thin from her time in Lowtown, was still wider than his own. His muscles were lean, his frame wiry and compact, a stark contrast between the bulky Fereldan men she knew. And he had a mere fraction of the body hair she did.

That had made her initially self-conscious. Elves did not grow beards, and apparently grew hair in few other places. His chest was smooth, as were his arms; his legs had hair but they were not thick or dark. On his abdomen, where other men had a line that led under their trousers, Fenris had nothing. It was only under his trousers, low between his sharp hipbones in a compact little tuft of coarse black, that Fenris had anything like she did. She had been embarrassed, at first, at how much more hair she had between her legs than he did.

He made it a point to show her he didn’t care on their first night together.

Time had eased her self-conscious feelings around him. His appreciation for her form did not falter, and there was no part of her he did not delight in touching. She, too, had easily strode past her initial inexperience with his body type, and took her own pleasure in pleasuring him.

Hawke kissed down the soft seam between the panels of his abdominal muscles, taking the base of his half-hard cock in her hand and slowly moving her hand up and down the shaft. Unthinking, Fenris canted his hips forward, pressing his middle towards her almost crudely. With a chuckle, Hawke slid her tongue up the underside of the shaft, working him until he was completely hard. The only sound Fenris would make was the labored inhale of his controlled breathing, sharp through his nose. Hawke placed her mouth around the head of his cock, hollowing her cheeks and sliding her lips down towards the base, hoping to reach it but knowing she was not yet so experienced. A grunt encouraged her, a firm hand brushing her hair away from her face. She glanced up and met his gaze, his eyes heavy and dark with arousal.

“Touch yourself,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand slid to the back of her head, long fingers tangling in the strands of black hair. “Please.”  
Hawke didn’t need to be told twice. With mouth still working in earnest on Fenris’ cock, Hawke took her free hand and placed it between her legs, working at the little bundle of nerves Fenris had been attentive to earlier. Fenris’ hips stuttered forward and he exhaled sharply, his hand tightening on her hair as he regained his control and stayed still, as if he was embarrassed at how he’d forgotten himself. Hawke hummed around his cock and delighted in the way Fenris tried to keep himself together when she was so valiantly pulling at the strings, trying to unravel him.

There was a soft sting as Fenris, still finding his voice, pulled her hair to get her attention. She pulled her mouth off his cock with a soft pop and looked up at him. Fenris caught her gaze and felt sharp jerk in his stomach.

“Can we… move to the bed,” Fenris murmured, voice deep with desire. With a smile, Hawke stood and took Fenris’ hand, leading him to the bed. With strong hands, Fenris guided her onto the mattress, hands holding firm to her waist as he knelt between her knees. Hawke placed her hands above her head, relaxing as Fenris looked at her.

“What would you have me do?”

“Kiss me,” Hawke said. She smiled with glee as Fenris moved to place his mouth on hers; she placed a halting finger on his lips, then shook her head. “Not there.”

“Is this the way you’d like for it to happen tonight?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Hawke chuckled. “Maybe for the first one.”

“I think I can manage that, then,” Fenris said, kissing down the skin of her torso until he reached her middle. Hawke bit her lip in excitement as Fenris placed his hands on her inner thighs, spreading her apart for him. Her regarded her for a moment, his gaze deceptively disinterested, before he spread her lips with two fingers and licked a long stripe up her center.

Hawke sighed and relaxed, enjoying the sensation. Fenris had once told her that he’d had no one since leaving Danarius and could not remember anyone before; had he not told her this, she would have believed he had a long list of very pleased ex-lovers. Hawke had had to teach Fenris to not put her pleasure above his own, that he deserved completion as well, but that did not stop him from being as attentive as he could.

The pad of his thumb came down and rubbed a small, insistent circle on her clitoris as he took a moment to observe her. The sensation spiraled up her middle and Hawke let out a small laugh as she twisted, trying to both sink into the feeling and get away from it.

“And what’s so funny?” Fenris asked, smirking. Hawke nudged her heel against his side, not quite kicking him but getting the message across.

“You know that I—oh, Maker, Fenris,” Hawke said, her hips moving as Fenris became a little firmer in his pressure and his index finger slid into her.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Don’t get smug, Fen—bloody flames, hold on, hold on,” Hawke choked out, reaching down and grabbing Fenris’ hand, stilling his movements. Fenris’ eyebrows furrowed.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted?”

“I did, until I realized I’d be done afterward. So… let’s get to the main, shall we?”

Fenris shrugged, then pulled his hand out of Hawke and shuffled forward on his knees. Hawke swallowed hard as Fenris put his index finger in his mouth.

“Do you do that for my benefit?” Hawke asked, sitting up on her elbows as Fenris’ left hand lazily worked himself back to full hardness. “Or do you enjoy doing that?”

“Yes,” Fenris replied, his voice a low growl of arousal. Hawke licked her lips and watched as Fenris angled his hips and positioned himself at her center. With a glance upwards, he asked, “May I?”

“You may,” Hawke replied with a smile, sighing as slowly, carefully, Fenris pushed into her, keeping himself balanced with one hand until he was flush against her hips. He hovered above her, tight, controlled, and still, his hands clutching the mussed white sheet beneath her. Hawke wrapped her legs around his waist and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

“Go on.”

Tentative and careful, Fenris pulled his hips back and pushed back into Hawke, going easy; it was more for his on benefit than hers. Soon, he find a steady rhythm at a speed he was comfortable with, his rigid control relaxed until he held himself closer to Hawke and within easier reach of her mouth. Hawke kissed him with her arms around his neck, tongues sliding languidly in a separate beat, teeth biting at what they could. Hawke pulled Fenris closer to her and kissed down his neck, tongue laving over the symmetrical branches of lyrium on his throat.

That had been a concern for her. She knew his markings hurt, knew they always had a lingering pain in his skin like the throb of a healing burn, but she had asked him if giving them any special attention hurt them more. Touching them in such a way, he had readily informed her, had quite the opposite effect. Her touch soothed, if it was at all possible, so she made a point to give them any attention she could. The metallic taste of lyrium on her tongue never lingered and was no different than drinking a lyrium potion. It was helped immensely by the fact that there was always the bite of salt and something just Fenris.

Hawke pulled her arms back and placed her hands on Fenris’ ears, caressing the flat plane of their shells with her thumbs as Fenris readjusted the angle of his hips. Immediately, his hips stuttered and he inhaled sharply; Hawke felt his ears move under her hands, a response to her touch.

“How do you elves get anything done, with how sensitive your ears are?” Hawke mused, chuckling when Fenris’ arms buckled and he buried his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It seems you would be set off by anything.”

“Sensitivity does not mean immediate arousal,” Fenris groused, biting Hawke’s neck. She hummed in response. “Yes, elf ears, my ears in particular, have a certain sensitivity. But I know you get a certain pleasure from your feet. Do you walk around, constantly aroused when you wear shoes?”

“Yes,” Hawke replied seriously. Fenris bit her neck again, communicating his lack of amusement. Hawke chuckled as Fenris moved his ears underneath her hands. “Trying to escape me?”

“In vain, it appears.”

“Aw,” Hawke cooed, laughing as Fenris readjusted himself until he could reach a hand between them. An insistent finger found her clitoris and began rubbing hard against it; Hawke’s hips stuttered and her hands stilled. She felt Fenris grin against her neck.

“We’re not going fast enough.”

“Always in a hurry,” Hawke gasped, unprepared for the vicious onslaught of Fenris’ steady, pulsing hips and the unceasing pressure of his fingers.

Fenris lifted his head from her neck and pressed his mouth onto hers, swallowing her moans as she clutched at his shoulders and moved her hips with his, riding the feeling and chasing her end. She could almost taste his smugness when his tongue slid into her mouth, sliding against hers in an insistent caress that she wanted forever. She gently bit down on the invading muscle as it retreated, earning her a grunt and a harsh moment of unbearable pressure in her middle.

Hawke could never tell when Fenris was close. He was so stone-faced about it that she wondered if even he knew when it was going to happen. But she knew when she was close, and Fenris was getting her to that point quickly. His stubborn embarrassment at being teased about his sensitive ears meant that Fenris was not going to stop until Hawke had hers quickly, no matter if the feeling got to be too much.

Fingers clutching tightly against his shoulder blades, eyes clenched shut, Hawke moved her hips erratically, her body almost completely out of her control as Fenris had his way with her, his breath coming out hot into her mouth as she lost the ability to kiss him back. Hawke’s toes curled as a river of pleasure snaked up through her belly, rippling in her nerves as Fenris worked a circle around her clitoris. Choking words between her panting breath, Hawke spoke.

“There, Fenris, oh, Maker…”

Fenris said nothing in response, only pressed his hips flush against Hawke and moved his hand a little quicker. Soundless, Hawke arched her back and straightened her legs out, throwing her head back as her orgasm overcame her. After a few moments, her body stilled and she lay silent, breathing hard as she felt her heart pounding. Fenris clutched the sheets next to her head and hunched his shoulders half a minute later, one hand steadying himself on her waist. Slowly, with a grimace, Fenris pulled out of Hawke and knelt between her legs, sitting on his knees and staring down at her thighs, his hair covering his eyes.

“Well,” Hawke finally said, finding her voice again. “That was something.”

“Have you been taking—”

“You ask me that every time. My answer is still yes.” Hawke gestured vaguely at the floor. “Grab the blanket, please?”

Crawling off the bed, Fenris grabbed the blanket off the floor and brought it back over to the bed. He sat down on the bed, laying down next to Hawke and grabbing her around the middle. Hawke smiled but made no comment on Fenris’ clingy movements, only snuggled back into his chest as he wrapped the blanket around them.

“You’re not wanting to sleep, are you?” he asked.

“Me? No. I just want to cuddle a little. Plus, your blanket is soft. Am I allowed to relax with you, post-sex?”

Fenris snorted. “I suppose such a thing is not terrible.”

“Good. Shh.”

Without another word, Fenris and Hawke lay together on the bed, listening to the fire crackle while the rain came pouring down outside. Neither were quite tired yet, and the night was not over, but the moment called for peace.

Such a peace could only be experienced side by side.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love my Hawke and I'm sad that there are people who don't like her.


End file.
